The Lifelong Call to Come Home
My Saturday newsletter is going to be very different from what I had initially planned. I had a list made, intentions set, and as soon as I sat down this morning to start mapping everything out, I felt this intense resistance rise up inside me. Nothing was flowing, I kept getting distracted. It was as if my whole being was saying “no, that’s not the direction I want to go today.” So instead of pushing, I decided to listen and ask “what do I really want to say?”
Just a week ago, I emerged from nine days in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. This was my twelfth trip being fully immersed in this pristine wilderness.
On some of our earlier trips, Spencer and I used to comment that it takes a few days to feel like you’re fully there, to let go of the world we leave behind the moment our paddles dip into the clear water.
I had a much different experience this time.
As soon as I settled myself into my place in the front our little family vessel — packs wedged in and pup and partner aboard — I was fully there. It was as if my life at home ceased to exist completely.
There were multiple moments throughout those nine days where I whispered to myself, “I’m home” as tears slid down my face.
I went on a fishing trip when I was probably eight or so with my mom’s side of the family. We used to rent out a big lodge in Canada and we’d fish all day long no matter the weather. We would stop for lunch on these rocky islands and my brother and I would hop out to explore.
I remember touching what I lovingly deemed “squishy moss” and being absolutely mesmerized. I would crane my head all the way back to look up at the tallest white and red pines that towered over me, older and wiser than I could imagine feeling strongly that I did not want to leave. It was a feeling much older and more powerful than my little being could grasp at the time.
In my mid-twenties, I visited Ely for a long weekend vacation. I remember wanting to go there with zero context or reason as to why. It was this strange magnetic pull that I couldn’t explain. When I arrived, I found myself saying aloud, “I think I’m going to live up here someday.”
At thirty-six, I can now tell you exactly why I felt the way I did at eight years old, at twenty-four, and why I felt the same powerful magnetism at thirty-one when we decided to move from Minneapolis to Two Harbors.
My soul wants to be here. There is some cosmic connection between me and this pristine place. Pines and lakes and rivers and bogs are the only things I have ever really wanted to paint. It is the place I feel most myself, most at home.
This past week, I have neglected photographing and listing the new paintings that were returned to me from New Scenic Café, I have stacks of prints that need to be signed and packaged for the Edina Art Fair in two weeks, and I have greeting cards to launch. But all I have found myself able to do the entire week, is paint the place my soul calls home. I cannot wait to share with you what comes of this creative time…